


Christmas (Or: How the Sirs Nearly Manage to Destroy the House-- Again)

by graywhatsit



Series: Hatbots [7]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, First Christmas, Fluff, Gen, Hat Films, hatbots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-04-03 18:47:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4111240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graywhatsit/pseuds/graywhatsit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The bots haven't experienced Christmas, yet.</p><p>Smith thinks it's time they did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas (Or: How the Sirs Nearly Manage to Destroy the House-- Again)

**Author's Note:**

> this was actually a giveaway prize for a friend on tumblr
> 
> and i apologize-- christmas in june? weird

Halloween had been just yesterday, a long, cool October night, really nothing out of the ordinary. They had been invited to a party, of course, just a few friends from here or there, and surely they could go out for one night, right?

It had ended up with the three of them stumbling home at 1am the next morning, the pair of androids struggling with low batteries and the almost-dead weight of their human friend, more than a bit drunk from the wide selection and availability of alcoholic beverages. Well, at least he wasn’t at a _particularly_ dangerous level of intoxication. He’d be fine after a good sleep, even if he’d have one hell of a hangover.

Which is why, when they saw Smith dressed in an exceptionally… _loud_ jumper, green and red and gold, hauling in a large tote with visible strain but no apparent headache, dry mouth, or _anything_ even remotely relating to a hangover, it was a bit of a shock.

“What are you wearing?” Trott watched his creator, nose wrinkling slightly in faint distaste as he took in the (admittedly) ugly jumper.

“My Christmas jumper, mate.” Setting down the overstuffed box, the engineer tugged off the top, excitedly digging through the contents inside. Both androids leaned back from it, just in case the slightest wrong move would set the thing off, exploding tinsel and jingle bells everywhere. “Reminds me, we need to get you two yours. This one’s old, anyway, we can all get new ones!”

Ross blinked at him, looking just as bewildered as his counterpart sitting next to him. “Smith. Yesterday was Halloween. Christmas is over a _month_ away.”

“Fifty-four days, in fact,” Trott added, eyes still fading from the glassy ‘processing’ look. “You can’t start celebrating yet, it’s _November_.”

“Yes I can. I can start celebrating it when I like, and I’d like to right now. So, if either of you two _gentlemen_ would like to help me out, I’d appreciate it.”

A snarky retort was on the tip of Trott’s tongue, ready to fire, turning into an incredibly undignified squawk when a pile of brightly colored lights sailed through the air, crashing right on his lap.

“I’m guessing we don’t have a choice?” Ross tugged at one of the strands, finding it hopelessly tangled and not even budging off of the squashed robot.

“Not at all.”

“This is a fire hazard.”

“Shut _up_. God, I’ve done this for years, and nothing has ever happened before.”

“Doesn’t mean it _can’t_.”

After an honest to goodness _hour_ of detangling strings of Christmas lights- honestly, how Smith could manage to wad them up that badly was a mystery- they’d finally started to hang them up.

All over the place.

“We don’t _need_ this many, I’m telling you,” the smaller of the androids argued, tossing down the armful of carefully coiled, colorful fairy lights. “We don’t have room in this house for a mansion’s worth of lights!”

“Do you just not want fun, Trott?” Smith leveled a stare at him, pausing in wrapping the lights around the tree, even taller than himself. “Is that it? Chris Trott doesn’t believe in fun, so no one gets to have any, is that what it is?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“You’re a fucking party pooper, mate, that’s what. Ross, you won’t let him ruin your fun, right?”

“Huh?” Distracted as he was, Ross completely missed the loop of lights Smith handed him, letting them drop to the floor at his feet. “Well, it is an awful lot of lights- but Trott, just let him. It’s not hurting anyone.”

The shorter android blinked at him, something entirely unnoticed as Ross bent to pick up the thankfully unshattered lights.

“You know what? You want to pay for almost two months of excessive electricity usage, that’s on you. Your money, after all.” He crouched to look at the poor, overworked and overcrowded powerstrip by the wall.

“What are you doing now?”

“Trying to see if I can make it more efficient. If I can’t…” He twisted it in his hands, looking it over carefully. “Ross, how do you feel about being plugged into a genny for a while?”

Smith pouted- well, not that he’d ever _admit_ to pouting- not five minutes later, watching the bulk of his fairy lights get coiled up and neatly placed back into the tote. Turns out, no one wanted to run on a generator, not during winter, not ever. The day hell froze over, in Ross’ words, Smith receiving a blank look from the pair when he- quite helpfully, in his mind- pointed out that there was indeed a place called Hell that froze over quite regularly, being in Scandinavia.

He’d decided to keep quiet until they’d finished.

“Is your holiday decorating spree finished? Because I was kind of hoping I could-”

“No! Look, do you notice anything missing?”

After looking around the room, following his creator’s gesture, Trott gave a flat “no”.

“Well, you’re wrong! Our tree isn’t finished yet, you can’t just leave it with a few lights. Come on, help me with the baubles.”

“Smith, can’t this wait a little longer?” Ross scratched the back of his head, a nervous habit he’d picked up over the months of watching Smith. “I mean, we have a whole month and a half until Christmas, itself- surely it can wait until December?”

“It _could_ , but why would it?” The sole human almost looked offended by the very idea. “If you wait until December, that’s three weeks to enjoy it instead of seven. Wouldn’t you rather enjoy something for _seven_ weeks?”

“I’d rather enjoy it when it’s _time_ to enjoy it,” Trott grumbled.

“Fuck you, Trott. You don’t know fun, and it doesn’t want to know you, either.”

Trott’s cry of “what does that even _mean_ ” was ignored in favor of digging out various baubles and ornaments, all of the miraculously unscathed, despite being squished into a vessel under pressure for a good ten months and very quickly tossed at the once again unsuspecting Trott.

“Hold those- we’ll put them up.”

Rolling his eyes at Smith’s words- as if he really had much say in any of this-  Trott did as told, standing stock still as a slightly reluctant Ross and an overexcited Smith took bauble after ornament from the rapidly-dwindling pile to hang on the green, plastic boughs of the tree.

No way in hell was Smith going to vacuum up pine needles.

When the last of the ornaments was out of his hands, the slightly-fuming android wiped his palms on his jeans- only making everything more glittery in the process- and crossed his arms. “Finished yet? Because I’d-”

“Shut up, Trott.”  Smith adjusted the precariously perched metal star on top of the conifer, waiting a few seconds before messing with it again. “Have to make sure it’s perfect- you can’t half-ass this sort of thing.”

“Unlike everything else you make?”

Ross quickly averted his gaze to dig through the box again, not wanting to meet the look his creator was aiming his way.

“I made you two. Don’t you start with me… there.”

To be perfectly honest, although the tree looked like it may just give out under the weight of the decorations surrounding it, it didn’t look too bad. Crowded, but really nice, and the trio stood for a moment, just taking in the sight.

“Oh, hey, I forgot. Hold on a second.” A quick shuffle through the tote and Smith returned, holding something steel gray in his hands, a golden loop of thread through the top.

Ross raised an eyebrow, watching the human place the item front and center on the tree. “Another ornament? Don’t you think we have enough?”

“Never too many. Besides,” Smith started, taking a few steps back to loop his arms around their shoulders, “this one’s pretty important.”

Made of ceramic, rather than preferred metal for the subject matter, a little robotic figurine stood proudly amongst snowflakes and brightly colored baubles. Not an android, but good enough.

“…You’re a fucking _sap_.”

“Shut up, Trott. Enjoy the moment.”

The fifty-four days until Christmas passed by both too quickly (in Smith’s case) and too slowly (in Trott and Ross’ case), including holiday parties:

“Smith. How many did you have?”

“Uh… I dunno. A lot. You’re warm, Ross..”

“Oh, god. Trott, help me out- he’s gonna pass out soon, and I don’t want a repeat of Halloween.”

Jumpers:

“Oh. Oh no. Ross, look at this.”

“What- oh my god.”

“Stop fucking staring at me!”

“We will when you actually grow into your jumper, Trotty.”

“You got me this one, Smith!”

“Yes. yes I did.”

“Nice choice, mate.”

and excessive- even for them- amounts of singing:

“ _I hear those_ -”

“Smith, I swear to fucking god, if you sing another Christmas song, I will _end_ you.”

“Aww, Trott, I thought you loved my singing!”

  
“You sound like a choir of angels, but pick something else, _please_.”

“…. _It’s beginning to look a lot like_ -”

“For fuck’s _sake_!”

Basically, by the time Christmas rolled around, Trott was well and truly _done_ with it. He didn’t understand the hype- though Ross didn’t quite, either, he did get considerably more excited around the first. Trott, however, just grew annoyed.

That said, he did study up on his Christmas traditions, and though neither he nor Ross could actually eat anything, Smith would enjoy a Christmas Eve dinner, right?

Which meant they had to cook. Alright.

They couldn’t quite afford a _huge_ dinner, but it’d be fine, so long as it was tasty enough. Roast chicken and potatoes and all would suffice.

After telling his comrade of the plan, Trott split up the tasks between them, hoping it would take less time than one doing it all, himself.

One would think, with them being virtually supercomputers, they would likely be the best chefs on the planet.

One would be incorrect.

Their green beans turned out mushy and done well before the chicken even had a chance to warm up, and their chicken- covered in olive oil and rosemary, same as the potatoes- needed to be in at a lower temperature than the rest of the meal. It’d cook faster, then, surely.

Which may or may not have worked, had they actually been programmed with working timers.

“Uh… Trott?”

The smaller construct glanced up from the screen in front of him. “Yeah?”

“You smell that?”

“That’s-” **[Carbon monoxide, carbon solids, heat in excess of-]** An awful screech cut off his processor, bringing both pairs of hands up to both pairs of ears.

“Smoke, yeah!” Ross nudged at his friend with a foot, rather than pull him off the couch and expose his ears. “Go get the extinguisher!”

“What the actual _fuck_?” Their creator stepped out of the workshop, also covering his ears and looking incredibly cross, only a little confused by Trott rushing past with the red canister. “What the fuck did you _do_?”

“Busy!” God, he really wished he could shut down his senses- that’d be a nice upgrade to have, wouldn’t it? On a three count, Ross tugged the oven door open, allowing a cloud of dark smoke out into the kitchen, only to be met with a freezing white spray from the nozzle of the fire extinguisher.

After the windows had been opened and the alarm quieted, the trio looked down at the charred remains of chicken and potatoes, cold, mushy green beans to the side.

“So,” Smith started, pushing the plate of charcoal away with a finger, “takeaway?”

The androids followed suit, glumly watching their failed surprise. “Takeaway.”

Suppose it wasn’t all bad, really. They sat on the couch, eating- well, Smith, anyway- hurriedly delivered Chinese, just watching the tree. That dinner had been more than a bit disastrous, but at least they weren’t homeless, and no one was hurt, other that the scorched oven and wall behind it.

They were all okay, and even Trott was more starting to get into the holiday, now that it was actually time.

And the next morning, when they all opened their presents to each other (books for Trott and his project, Superdry for Ross, and a joint present of tools and the ugliest Christmas sweater possible for Smith), they were content to just pile together and doze on the couch.

Unusual, sure, but so were the trio, and they much preferred it that way.


End file.
